


Drag Me Down

by angel_authoress



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Angels vs. Demons, Dark Comedy, Demon Deals, Demon/Human Relationships, Demons, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Magic, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Slow Burn, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_authoress/pseuds/angel_authoress
Summary: 25 year old Bexley Westshire is at the end of her rope- until she meets the charming and charismatic Isabel Baxter at her best friend Abigail's 25th birthday party. The self-proclaimed "miracle-worker" offers Bexley a chance to change her life- but Bexley will soon realize that her continued involvement with Isabel may not be smart, as Isabel is not at all what she appears to be.
Relationships: Isabel Baxter/Bexley Westshire, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! a few things to say before we begin: 
> 
> -i'm fully aware that ao3 is a site that's more geared towards fanfiction, however there aren't a whole lot of other sites i could think of to put this story on (after wattpad had that security breach, i don't really trust it anymore).
> 
> -content warnings! this story will feature graphic violence, sexual content, and mentions of potentially triggering topics- each chapter will come with a trigger warning if the chapter features something triggering. 
> 
> -as for updates, i can't promise a consistent update schedule, but i'll try as best as i can to update regularly.
> 
> i've put my heart and soul into developing these characters for quite a few months now. they're my pride and joy, and I hope you'll come to enjoy them.

_**New York City, New York** _

_**August 16th, 2020** _

* * *

Thick rivulets of blood spilled out, slowly seeping into the cracks of the sidewalk. A pair of heavy dark boots stepped away from the pooling red mess. The owner of the boots was careful not to allow any blood on the shoes, lest she risk leaving footprints.

“You can’t stay here, you know.”

“Say what you will.” A tall young woman moved out of the shadows and into the dim street light, tucking something into her jacket pocket. “But I got what I came here for, didn’t I?” 

The man accompanying her- who appeared to be far older than the woman- looked past her and down at the mangled, now soulless corpse bleeding out in the alleyway. “You don’t have to be so messy when you take a soul. There’s a nice, clean way to do it. Remember what we talked about? Humans-” 

“Are now _refined_ creatures, not savages,” the woman interrupted, a tired tone to her voice. “Yes, I’m aware.” 

The man pulled his hat down further over his head, looking around suspiciously. “So then you’d best try and keep those horns and that tail of yours out of sight, _Melori.”_

She gave herself a once-over, realizing that he was right and that she had forgotten to keep herself in check- _again._ She mumbled a curse under her breath, glancing around, hoping that no one had seen her. “I _told_ you, up here it’s Isabel Baxter.” 

“Isabel Baxter. How charming,” he said dryly.

Isabel stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s a perfectly fine name. You take the fun out of everything, you know. There’s no _spirit_ in your soul-collecting.” 

“‘Soul-collecting’, as you call it, is not intended to be “fun”. It’s serious work. After all, like our founder and overlord Lucifer said-” 

The woman grinned knowingly, tapping the top of his hat. _“Lord Lucifer_ is no longer in the equation.” 

“I’m _aware,”_ the man snapped, batting her hand away. “But regardless, Lady Hayami won’t be pleased if she finds out that you’ve been slacking.” 

Isabel pointed a clawed finger down at his chest. “You mean that _you’ve_ been slacking. Lady Hayami will continue to blame all of my failures on _you,_ like she always has.” 

“You listen to _me.”_ The man snarled lowly and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her down to his level. “You may get to act cute with me here, but down in the pit, you know fully well which one of us has the advantage. If Lady Hayami isn’t pleased with your numbers, I’ll have you on the rack for a _century._ Do you understand me?” He pulled her closer to whisper into her ear. _“Melori?”_

“Someone must be feeling the pressure,” Isabel taunted. She gave him a heated look, glancing up at him from beneath her blonde lashes, daring him to strike, to do something that would endanger their cover. “Go ahead and put me on the rack, Val. Been a while since we’ve had a good torture sesh.” 

“...It’s _Vallion,”_ he grumbled in defeat. He released her hair and shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Let’s get back. Before one of the humans notices us.” 

A shit-eating grin made its way across Isabel's face. She nodded and bowed politely. “But of course, Lord Vallion.” 

The two of them quickly vanished into the shadows, with the only evidence that they were ever there lying dead in the alleyway.

* * *

**ONE WEEK LATER**

“A _little_ higher… now just a _tad_ to the left... yup! That’s it, perfect!” 

Abigail Hightower flashed the men standing on the ladders a thumbs up, and after they secured the gold and silver streamers, began climbing down. She beamed as she took it all in- everything was _finally_ starting to come together.

“Miss Hightower, the bakery wants to know what kind of cake you would like?” 

Abigail turned around and hummed in thought. “Um... chocolate with... no. No. Scratch that. Red velvet and cream cheese frosting, please,” she said. 

The woman nodded and returned to her phone call. 

“Add some cupcakes too, the same way please!” Abigail called after her. 

“Yes Miss Hightower.” 

Before Abigail could even think of what to do next, what with her mind going in a million different directions at once, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her skirt pocket, somewhat grateful for the distraction. “Hello, Abigail Hightower speaking.” 

_“Miss Hightower, the restaurant called and informed us that they only have a limited amount of the fish you requested for the buffet.”_

“Seriously?” she whined, letting out an agitated sigh. "Alright. That’s fine. It’s whatever, it’ll just have to be first come first serve. I don’t have time to look for more anywhere else.” 

_“Yes Miss Hightower, I’ll inform them.”_

“Awesome. Thanks, you’re a lifesaver Mike!” 

_“You’re welcome, I’m happy to do what I can to make this party special for you.”_

Abigail smiled tenderly as she hung up the phone, slipping it back into her pocket. She took a moment to breathe, looking around the room as it slowly began to take the form of a proper party venue. The decorations, while not really what she would’ve picked, were elegant and complimented the lavish room. But this was what her mother wanted, and she had asked Abigail to oversee things. She wouldn’t let her down. 

25 wasn’t really a milestone in her eyes, but that was fine. She was just... happy. Happy to have a party again, happy to be doing something that wasn’t tied to the business. For the first time in a while she felt like she would be socializing on a more personal level, and in times like these, that meant a lot to her. 

“Hey! I’ve got it under control!” 

Abigail froze. She’d recognize that annoyed, nasally voice anywhere. 

She turned to see none other than Bexley Westshire standing at the entrance, carrying three large boxes that were very obviously too heavy for her. One of the volunteers had seen her and rushed over to help, but Bexley- being Bexley- refused, insisting that she had it “under control”. 

The volunteer turned to look at Abigail helplessly, awaiting an order. Abigail nodded, and he turned and grabbed all three of the boxes right out of Bexley’s hands, carrying them over to one of the tables.

Bexley huffed indignantly, folding her arms across her chest. “I said I had it.” 

Abigail giggled. “You looked like you were about to fall over. What was in them anyway?” 

“More decorations- and some wine glasses. Snatched them out of the back of the van when one of the volunteers wasn’t looking.” 

Abigail just smiled and pulled Bexley into a tight hug. “You’re not a stranger here, you know.” 

Bexley wrapped her arms around her in kind. “Feel like it sometimes.” 

Abigail held on for a moment- it had been a while since she’d seen Bexley in person, after all. When they separated, she took a moment to get a good look at her. She looked the same as she always did- short brown hair and as pale white as the moon with no evidence of her skin ever tasting sunlight, but every time she saw her, the circles around her eyes seemed to get a little darker. 

“Have you been sleeping?” Abigail asked. 

Bexley reached up and touched the dark circle under her left eye, before ducking her head self-consciously. “Not really.” 

_“Bex!”_

“Bexley,” she corrected. “It’s Bexley.” 

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Oh shut up, you told me you went to see a doctor and get new sleep medication!” 

“I might have just said that to get you off my back,” Bexley admitted, but she didn’t look too guilty about it- she never seemed to. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll go see a doctor soon. Promise.” 

“Your words are as empty as your soul,” Abigail teased lightly. “I told you you didn’t have to come help today.”

Bexley shrugged, taking a moment to admire the work Abigail had put into making this room come together. “Didn’t have anything better to do. I’ll take any excuse I can get not to be trapped at home with dad.” 

“Maybe you should actually try being nice to your dad sometime,” Abigail suggested, knowing fully well that she was treading on dangerous territory. “He’s a good man.” 

“Yeah, to _you,”_ Bexley retorted sourly. “He’s unbearable to live with, believe me.” 

“So don’t live with him,” Abigail said simply. 

“We’ve talked about this-” 

“Right, yeah, ‘I Hate My Dad’s Shady Money’. Sorry, I forgot.” 

Bexley jokingly flipped her off. Abigail was quick to return the gesture.

“One of these days I’ll get you to believe me,” Bexley said. A look suddenly entered her eyes, a look that Abigail knew all too well. “You know someone was murdered literally _right_ next to this building, right? Are you- are you _sure_ you wanna have the party here?” 

Abigail folded her arms across her chest. “The police ruled out homicide, Bex. No signs of foul play.” 

“No signs of foul play? The guy looked like he just walked out of a slasher movie.” 

“No human being was capable of doing what was done to him,” Abigail argued. “It was an animal attack. Simple as that.” 

“An animal attack? _In New York City?”_

Abigail shrugged. “It’s weird, sure, but it can happen I guess.” 

“Weird isn’t the word for it,” Bexley said, “it’s impossible.”

“Bex.” Abigail placed her hands on Bexley’s shoulders, smiling softly at her to calm her down. “Relax. Things will be fine. There will be extra security all around the building and inside. If the animal or the, uh... _‘person’_ shows up again, we’ll be safe.”

“But-” 

“I _can’t_ reschedule, my parents want this party to happen tomorrow no matter what,” Abigail said. “So please say you’ll come. You’ll be safe, I swear. Nothing bad will happen to you or anyone else.” 

“...Alright,” Bexley murmured, admitting her defeat. “It’s not really me I’m worried about, but fine. I’ll come.” Under her breath, she added, “for you.”

Abigail nodded, dropping her hands. “Good. I don’t think I’d be able to survive this party without you.” 

Bexley rolled her eyes. “Oh please, yes you would, you’re like a social butterfly. It’s _me_ who wouldn’t survive.” 

“I don’t know, you’re pretty good at faking it.” 

Bexley chuckled, shrugging off her jacket. “Alright. What’s first on the agenda, boss?”

* * *

“You’re getting sloppy, Melori.”

A piercing scream tore itself from her throat as Vallion dragged the knife through her midsection. He moved swiftly and smoothly, like he was cutting warm butter. He finally, _finally_ ripped the knife out when he reached her ribcage, and watched with twisted satisfaction as gouts of blood poured out of the wound and down her naked body, spilling all over the table she was strapped to, and dripping to the floor, pooling beneath the table.

For someone who claimed to hate blood, Vallion sure didn't seem to mind the mess.

“You know, if I had you hung up like normal, your guts would be all over the floor right now,” said Vallion as he lifted up the knife, admiring the way the blood gleamed and shined in the dim, flickering light. “You should be grateful. I went easy on you this time. Didn’t want you incapacitated for too long, since Lady Hayami wants you back out there.” 

“Lady Hayami values me,” Isabel choked out. “She sees my potential. She knows that I’m a way more valuable asset than your lame ass could ever hope to be. The only reason you still have your status is because she’s fucking you.” 

Vallion looked down at her, eyes flaring red, before storming over to the table and plunging the knife into her face. Isabel howled with agony as she felt the knife plunge into her mouth through her cheek. Blood spilled all over her tongue and the coppery taste flooded her taste buds. 

“Mind your tone,” Vallion said calmly as he stepped back, trying his best to act like he was perfectly in control. “Like I said. Lady Hayami wants you back out there. She won’t be pleased if you’re out of commission for too long.” 

Isabel spat blood, most of it dribbling from between her lips. She laughed as more blood spilled out from the fresh wound. “If I fuck her better, maybe she’ll give me your job.” 

“I don’t think you’re her type,” Vallion muttered as he cleaned the knife. “I mean, you certainly aren’t mine.” 

“Come on Val,” Isabel teased, “don’t tell me you don’t get off on seeing me strapped to your table, covered in blood.” 

Vallion peeled off his bloody gloves and tossed them into the trash can. “I don’t. Your demon form is revolting.” 

“Revolting? That’s a strange way of saying unbearably sexy.” 

“Cute.” He shrugged his coat off and hung it up in the locker behind him. “Now unless you have any more smartass comments, I’m going to let you go.” 

“No more comments from me, sugar.”

She shot him a salacious wink, and he pretended to gag. But luckily for her, he didn’t bother to argue further and released her from the restraints. He glanced down at the deep wound on her midsection and sighed before placing his hand above it and chanting a few words in Latin. Isabel watched in fascination as the wound closed itself, the skin pulling itself together, and in a matter of seconds it looked like the knife hadn’t so much as scratched her. “Holy shit,” she said through a breath. “That was cool. You’re practicing magic now, huh?”

“A demon healing spell,” Vallion explained. “Learned it from a book that I stole a few thousand years ago from a very powerful witch.” 

“Cool, you gonna heal my face now? Or my neck? My legs?” 

He flashed her a pleasant smile. “No. But at least now you can walk without your guts falling out.” He nodded curtly and helped her sit up. “Now go on then, go get your rest. You can use my room if you’d like- just don’t touch my things.” 

“You’re really going to trust _me_ to go into your room unsupervised?” 

“I am.” Vallion smiled and flashed her the knife he’d just used to carve up her insides like a Thanksgiving turkey. 

Isabel laughed bitterly. “Right. Will I be seeing you again next week, doctor?” she asked as she weakly staggered to her feet. 

“Depends on how I’m feeling.” 

“A great session as always, Val. See you soon.” 

And with that she hobbled out of the room, ignoring the stares she got from demons and the wails of the damned human souls being tortured. It wasn’t anything unusual for demons to be bloody, injured, or even naked really, and given that they were, well- _demons-_ no one was going to come to her aid, and she wouldn’t expect them to. 

She slowly made her way down the narrow hall, ignoring the whispers of the other demons who were frankly no better off than she was. The halls of Hell were long and gray, bleak and dirty, splattered with blood and occasionally body parts. They were always crowded, mostly with demons but occasionally with human souls being transported to different holding cells.

She turned a corner and clutched onto the cement wall for support, chest heaving. She couldn’t stop now, lest she risk being killed by another demon in a moment of weakness. 

She finally made it to Vallion’s room, collapsing onto the bed as soon as she got close enough. It was nothing if not simplistic- with gray walls and a matching gray bedspread- God, he was so fucking _boring_. The man didn’t even have any framed photos of himself on his wall- that seemed to be pretty popular among high class demons these days. Lady Hayami certainly liked looking at herself, if Vallion's description of her room was accurate.

 _"Then again she's fucking **Vallion-** looking at herself is probably the only way she can come," _Isabel thought to herself crudely, snickering.

She was fully prepared to drift off to sleep and never wake up when a knock suddenly sounded on the door. 

_“Hello? Lord Vallion?”_

Isabel groaned and threw an arm over her eyes. _Great._ Just what she needed. _Company._ “Val’s not home right now, please leave a message.” 

_“Melori?! Of course it’s you!”_

The door burst open and Eri, Daughter of Lilith, came strutting inside, looking as pristine and pretty as ever- and carrying a clipboard. She adjusted her glasses and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “What happened to you?” 

“Val happened.” 

“...Oh,” Eri said quietly, her eyes roving over her extensive injuries- which had been much worse before Vallion had healed the nasty wound in her abdomen. “Well, you probably deserved it.” 

“Probably,” Isabel murmured, truly lacking the energy for a fight with Eri. Then again, Eri was always so high-strung, so maybe she had enough energy for the both of them.

Eri huffed, looking around the room from the doorway. “Anyway, is Lord Vallion anywhere nearby? My mother Lilith sent me to-” 

_“God,_ we all _know_ Lilith is your mom Eri, do you want a fucking cookie?” Isabel waved her away. “Go away, please. As you can see, I’m busy trying not to die.” 

Eri gasped- and although Isabel couldn't see her face, she could imagine it. Her mouth was probably hanging open and she likely looked like the dictionary definition of offended.

Isabel heard her loudly huff and adjust her clothes. “Jealousy is a disease, Melori.” 

“You and I both know demons don’t get sick.” 

Eri laughed cruelly. “You hardly count as a demon.” 

_Ouch._

“What is this, ‘Bully Isabel Day’? Sheesh.” 

“Why you insist on using that pitiful human name, I’ll never understand.” Eri scribbled something onto the sheet of paper on her clipboard and sighed. “I was really hoping I’d get to speak to Lord Vallion…” 

“Don’t bother him unless you wanna end up like me. He’s in a mood today- I doubt he wants to talk to Lilith 2.0.”

Isabel could feel Eri’s eyes on her again and could tell that she was taking in the state of her injuries, debating whether or not she wanted to risk it. She had done all she could do to warn her- what happened next was entirely up to her.

“Fine,” Eri grumbled shortly. “I’ll come back another time- preferably when Lord Vallion is _actually here.”_

“Yeah good luck with that, sweet cheeks. Now unless you’re going to kill me, do us both a favor and fuck off.” 

_What am I saying? At this point, killing me **would** be doing me a favor._

Eri gasped again, and Isabel hoped that she was blushing- it was the only time she ever looked cute. “I hope you know I _am_ going to kill you one day, Melori. The _second_ Lord Vallion finally realizes you’re worthless, you’re _dead.”_

And with that, Eri stormed off, slamming the door shut behind her. Isabel could hear her heels clicking all the way out of the room and she laughed, laughed loud enough for Eri to hear from all the way down the hall. 

Eri wouldn’t kill her, not unless Mommy Dearest said she could- and the _Big Bad Lilith_ surely had more important things to worry about than some punk low class demon being mean to one of her thousands of children. There was nothing remotely special about Eri compared to all of her siblings, and they both knew that. Lilith’s status was the only thing Eri had to hold over the heads of other demons like Isabel, who were only good for claiming more souls for Hell. 

Isabel sighed and stared up at the ceiling, and already she could feel her eyes growing heavier and heavier. Demons didn’t sleep, but Isabel found it rather refreshing, and it did tend to help her injuries heal faster. Vallion had used a Blade of the Damned to slice into her, so it would be a while before she was fully recovered. 

Isabel took a moment to relax, to indulge in her senses. She ran her fingers over the smooth silk sheets of Vallion’s bed- and cringed when she realized just what Vallion and Lady Hayami got up to on the very same sheets she was laying on. 

_Gross._

She ought to tear up his room for being such a prick- but she hardly had the energy. Nonetheless, she would get him back for this. 

_That’s what you said the last time he did this to you. And the time before that. And the time before that._

She sighed. It was hopeless. As long as Hayami had Vallion wrapped around her finger, Isabel was wrapped around Vallion’s- with no hope of escape. 

It was time for her to face a harsh truth, a truth she had always known deep down, but couldn’t bring herself to admit. 

“This job fucking sucks.”

* * *

**“DEATH ON WELLS STREET DECLARED AN ANIMAL ATTACK”**

**“POLICE HAVE RULED OUT FOUL PLAY IN THE DEATH OF 54 YEAR OLD DARIUS RAY”**

**“THE WELLS STREET KILLER- HUMAN OR SOMETHING ELSE?”**

Bexley sighed, rubbing her heavy eyes as she clicked onto another article. It was more and more of the same story- some kind of wild animal had made its way into New York City and had attacked the poor man. They hadn’t yet confirmed what animal it was, but the theories were either a wolf or a bear. An animal in New York City was certainly unorthodox, but it wasn’t _quite_ the kind of unorthodox Bexley was interested in. She couldn’t deny that, as morbid as it was, she had hopes that it wasn’t just some random animal attack- and really, how could it be? The police had to know how preposterous the thought was. 

Thanks to some inside connections, Bexley had managed to get a peek at some of the crime scene photos, and while it certainly looked like an animal attack, she liked to think about the possibility of something else being responsible. A human wasn’t capable of mauling someone like that, and an animal strong enough to do such a thing to a person certainly wasn’t going to be wandering around the city. 

People in the comments sections of these articles, as well as all over social media, had their own ideas. Some suggested it was a werewolf, or a changeling- some had even thought it was a human with special tools equipped for making murder scenes look like random animal attacks. 

Bexley herself wasn’t sure. She couldn’t say definitively that she believed in these creatures, but it was fun to think about the possibility, and there was little time or room for fun in her life. It was a private little fantasy that she could indulge herself in- though that didn’t change the fact that what had happened to the poor man was very real and most definitely a _terrible_ tragedy. 

When Bexley wasn’t with her father doing things for the company, like meetings and promotions and fancy parties, she liked to pretend that the world was just a little more whimsical and a little less tragic. It was during these times, and only these times, that she could be considered a bit of an optimist. It was _maybe_ a bit childish, but she had never really known what childhood felt like- not at any point in her life. 

It was also during these times that she didn’t care to be interrupted. 

A knock on the door brought Bexley out of her head. “Miss Westshire? May I come in?” 

Mrs. Clearwater, the housekeeper, had always been kind to her. When her mother died, she had taken over as her mother figure- helping her with her studies when needed, preparing her meals (even though the chef was more than capable), buying her gifts for the holidays- though the older Bexley got, the more distant she became- partly due to her father pulling her every which way. 

“Hey,” Bexley said simply, turning around in her office chair. “What’s up?” 

Mrs. Clearwater’s expression changed as soon as their eyes met, her warm smile shifting into a worried look. “Oh Bexley, you’re not sleeping again, aren’t you?” 

“You too?” Bexley guessed that she’d have to start wearing more makeup to cover the circles. “It’s fine. I’ll go to the doctor and get my prescription changed.” 

“Is it the nightmares?” she asked. “Have they gotten bad again?” 

“They’re the same as they’ve always been,” Bexley answered honestly. The nightmares and occasional night terrors had never gone away completely- and the content of her dreams hadn't really changed much. “But I know you didn’t come in here to make fun of my dark circles. What’s up?”

Mrs. Clearwater laughed lightly. “You know I’d never make fun of you. I came to tell you that your father has requested your presence in his study.” 

_“Ugh,”_ Bexley groaned. “Must not be that important if he couldn’t come find me himself.” 

“I don’t want to return to Mr. Westshire empty-handed, Bexley. If not for your father, do it for me?” 

Mrs. Clearwater flashed her a pleading smile, one that she knew Bexley couldn’t refuse. 

“Alright,” Bexley said, standing up. “I’m coming.” 

Bexley followed her out of the room. The long, spacious hallways of her own home, the one she’d lived in since childhood, still felt foreign and cold to her even now. There were portraits of the whole family hanging on the walls- her mother, her father, and Abigail- who was family, even if not by blood. Bexley hoped that one day Mrs. Clearwater would get a portrait- she was just as much a member of the family as she was- as well as the handsome groundskeeper she used to have a crush on when she was young. He didn’t come around as much anymore, but he had always been kind to her- he would often let her and Abigail play outside while he tended to the gardens. She and Abigail would sometimes watch him work for hours, and would occasionally steal some of the flowers. He noticed, of course, but paid no mind to it. 

Once they reached the study, Mrs. Clearwater nodded her head at her once as a goodbye before heading off to go take care of her duties for the rest of the evening. Bexley sighed, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. 

“Come in.” 

The study seemed to get bigger every time she saw it, although she didn’t go in here much. It was a general rule of thumb in the house that the study was off limits unless you were supervised by Mrs. Clearwater or Mr. Paul Westshire himself. Bexley had always thought it was a stupid rule, but she remembered all too well what happened the last time she’d made the mistake of snooping. The fierce anger on his face and the deep, swirling darkness in his eyes had stayed with Bexley for a long time- well into her adult years. 

“You wanted to see me?” Bexley asked curtly as she placed her hands behind her back. 

Paul Westshire looked up from his tablet to meet her gaze. Even while sitting he managed to look intimidating- though standing up he’d be even more so- he tended to tower over most people. As he was steadily approaching his older years his hairline had begun to recede and if one were to study his face long enough they would notice the crowsfeet settled around his stormy gray eyes. Mrs. Clearwater had always said that Bexley took after her late mother, but there was no denying that she was his daughter. 

“Yes, I did. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the large chair across from him. Bexley nodded and did as she was told, waiting for him to speak. 

He set the tablet down onto the small table beside his chair and folded his hands, setting them neatly on his lap. “Seeing as how tomorrow is the 50th anniversary, I wanted to know if you’d given my proposal any thought.” 

Bexley frowned. Of _course_ it was about the company. “I already told you the answer is no.” 

“How many meetings do I have to drag you to until you reconsider?” 

“Come on Dad, dragging me to all those meetings is what killed my interest in the first place, if I ever had any. You know that.” 

He chuckled lowly, but the cool, sharp intensity in his eyes betrayed the image of warm, fatherly kindness that he was attempting to give off- it was telling of something far more sinister. “Do you have an interest in anything?” 

Bexley shot him a confused look. “What do you mean?” 

“I am asking about your interests and hobbies outside of the company. Certainly you have some, don’t you? Something that’s holding your attention?” 

“If I did,” Bexley said cautiously, careful not to let anything slip, “I wouldn’t tell you about it.” 

He looked at her curiously, but he didn't seem offended by her words. “Why not?” 

“You’d just destroy it. That’s what you’ve done my whole life.” 

“That’s nonsense.”

“Is it?” Bexley countered. She stood up and began pacing, and she could feel her father’s eyes on her. “Let’s see, I was… I don’t know, eleven? I wanted to try out for a local softball team. Do you remember? I didn’t make it past tryouts, but it was never because I wasn’t good enough. You paid off the coach and told her not to accept me because you wanted my full attention on the company.” 

Paul smirked. “Do you hear yourself? You were _eleven-_ I certainly wouldn't have had any interest in recruiting a _child._ Have you considered the possibility that you simply didn’t qualify?” 

Bexley narrowed her eyes at him. “Me being a child didn't matter to you- it never has. I've been going to business meetings and doing things for the company since I could walk. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that right after tryouts the coach ran off to travel the world with her ‘lottery winnings’.” 

Paul sighed, standing up as well. The sound of his expensive shoes hitting the floor was a sound that had haunted Bexley since she was young. He walked over to his desk and grabbed two of the glasses he had in one of the cabinets. “One day I’ll prove to you that I’m not the bad guy, Bexley. I’m not against you. I’m your father, and I want what's best for you.” He poured a bit of whiskey into each glass. “Come on. Have a drink with your old man. Please?” 

Bexley eyed the offered drink reluctantly before snatching it out of his hand and downing the whole thing at once. She wiped her mouth, smirked, and held out her glass. “I’m gonna need a lot more than that to handle a conversation with you, _old man.”_

Paul mirrored her smirk and refilled her glass. “See? It would be nice if we could have more conversations like this. You’re far more agreeable when you’re tipsy.” 

“I know my limits,” Bexley insisted, “and I’m not stupid enough to fall for any tricks you might try to pull, so let’s not go down that route.” 

“No tricks,” he said, “I just want some quality time with my daughter tonight.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “So, Mrs. Clearwater told me you went to assist Abigail with setting up for the party. How is she?” 

“Abigail? Fine,” Bexley said casually. “Peppy as ever. Way too excited over a birthday, but I won’t judge.” 

“Sounds like her,” said Paul, “I bet she was happy to have her mother’s blessing to decorate.”

“Abigail reminds me a lot of Mrs. Hightower,” Bexley mused, “she even looks just like her.” 

“Abigail’s a good girl, and an excellent fit to take over her family's half of the company. You two would be _phenomenal_ business partners.” 

“Don’t do that,” Bexley said sharply as she took another sip.

“Do what?” Paul asked innocently.

“Dangle Abigail in front of me like that. It’s not going to work. Besides, we don’t even know if she’s going to step up either.” 

“I think it’s safe to assume she will,” Paul said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she announced it tomorrow at her party. She doesn’t have the same... _reservations_ that you do.” 

“It doesn’t matter what Abigail chooses to do. No matter what, I’ll support her, even if I don’t agree. And I know she’ll do the same for me. That’s why using her as bait isn’t going to work.” She downed the rest of her drink, then set the empty glass down. “Well. This has been riveting, but I think that’s enough socializing for one night.” 

Paul sighed, clearly dissatisfied. “You’re just like your mother. She always got snappy after a few drinks.” 

“I’m not snappy. I’m tired.” She stood up and nodded her head at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get some rest for the party tomorrow, and so do you. Goodnight.” 

Paul stood up as well- and as he rose, the mood of the room changed dramatically. Bexley could have sworn the already-dim lights got darker. “I truly hope we enjoy ourselves tomorrow- unlike that workaholic Adam, I greatly appreciate my downtime.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.” 

And with that Bexley made her way out of the room. She wasn’t sure why, but she had to fight off the urge to run. 

She shivered. This place had always given her the creeps, but the study especially had always had bad vibes. 

While she mostly just said what she did to escape him quicker, it was true that she needed her rest. While she doubted she’d have a good sleep since lately she seemed to be incapable of doing so, she wanted to at least try. The last thing she wanted was to be grouchy and tired on what was supposed to be Abigail’s special day. 

After making some tea, she made her way back to her room, sat back down at her desk, and began to dive back into the world of monsters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! i apologize for the wait. 
> 
> here's chapter two! enjoy!

“I seem to have come at an inappropriate time. Vallion got his hands on you again, I presume?” 

Isabel immediately shot awake. She glanced over to the left corner of the room, across from where she was still laying on Vallion’s bed, and found none other than Adriel standing there, looking elegant as ever with his large white wings sticking out proudly behind him. The glowing halo above his head was almost blinding. 

Demons on her level tended to have two typical reactions when in the presence of an angel: beg for mercy, or run for their life. Isabel, however, did neither- at least not in the presence of this particular angel. That certainly didn't stop the base instinctual fear of God's most terrifying soldiers from coursing through her, though. 

“If you came here to kill me, just get it over with,” she grumbled, flopping back onto the bed. “I don’t have it in me to fight you right now.” 

“I am not here to fight you Melori," Adriel said. 

Curious now, she sat up again. “You’re not?” She glanced down at the bed and smirked, remembering her thought about taking revenge against Vallion. _“Oh._ I get it. You’re not here to fight.” 

“No, I have business about-” Adriel paused when he caught sight of Isabel’s bare chest, face flushing as he glanced up towards the ceiling. “Melori. I am not here to copulate either.”

Isabel laughed as she tugged the blankets back over her chest. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to flash you- I recover faster in the nude.” 

“You can’t lie to an angel.” 

“Demons can lie to anyone, pretty boy.” While holding a blanket over herself to preserve her modesty, Isabel stumbled out of bed over to Vallion’s closet to search for clothes. “What brings you here then, if not to fight? Or uh…” She shot him a glance over her shoulder, smirking, _“copulate,_ as you put it?” 

“I am here with a proposition for you,” Adriel said, “regarding the demon Ryu.” 

Isabel pulled a face as she slipped into one of Vallion’s suits- which was, admittedly, a bit short for her. “Oh right, Ryu the Lying Rat Bastard who constantly steals my missions in order to become Vallion’s new slave. Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. _Please_ tell me you’re planning to smite him.” 

A ghost of a smile crossed Adriel’s lips. “Not today, I’m afraid. Smiting too many of demonkind would result in a catastrophic war, according to Gabriel and Raphael.” 

“Surely you’re not afraid of us?” 

“Not at all,” Adriel scoffed, “but I fear for the impact that our battles would have on humanity.” 

“Hmm,” Isabel muttered under her breath as she tied her tie, “maybe it would kinda suck if humanity was destroyed. Then I wouldn’t really have a job anymore, you know? Collecting souls is my gig. If everyone’s dead, well- I won’t have any souls to collect anymore. And _then_ who am I, really?” 

“I didn’t come here to witness you have an existential crisis."

“How do you even know what that means?” 

Adriel cleared his throat. “I have been doing... research. On how to connect better with humans. With the, um… the Google.” 

Isabel snorted loudly with laughter. Adriel was, in his own weird Adriel-way, a bit like a puppy. Which, of course, meant _nothing_ to Isabel. She was a demon, after all. Demons ate puppies for breakfast. “The _Google?_ Oh man, Adriel, you’re fucking _hopeless_. Alright, I’ll help you out with this Ryu thing, but only because I feel bad for you.” She slammed the closet doors shut and whirled around dramatically. “So, you need me to kill him? I’m happy to do that. I can make it look like an accident too-” 

Adriel held up a hand. “That won’t be necessary- yet. I am not asking you to murder Ryu, and honestly, this mission doesn’t have much to do with him. The reason I brought him up is because his next mission is scheduled to take place at the Royal Bluebird Hotel tomorrow.” 

Isabel cocked her head. “That fancy-schmancy hotel in the middle of the city?” 

Adriel nodded. “Precisely. There will be some very influential people there for West-Tower Publishing’s 50th anniversary party. Initially, the demon Ryu was scheduled to attend to collect souls- preferably from some of the more high-class humans.” 

“Man, you gotta tell me where you’re going with this-” 

“The demon Ryu has been kidnapped, incapacitated, and taken to Heaven for questioning by two of my siblings- Micah and Lumiel.” 

Isabel's eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Holy fuck- you mean the two baddest bitches in Heaven Micah and Lumiel?” 

Adriel squinted his eyes, staring at her in confusion. “I don’t really know what you mean by ‘baddest bitches’, but they are quite formidable. They are Seraphs- Heaven’s fiercest warriors. But of course, they don’t compare to the raw power of an Archangel.” 

“Why do you always look like you’re about to cream your jeans whenever you talk about the archangels?” 

“Would you _please_ allow me to finish what I was saying before making crude sexual remarks?” 

“I guess you've been doing your 'research' after all.” Isabel sat down on the edge of the bed and folded her hands neatly in her lap, patiently awaiting his instructions. “Go on.” 

“I need you to keep Vallion unaware by taking on this mission in Ryu’s place. Hell won’t notice that Ryu is missing so long as his work is being completed during his absence.” 

“Wait- you want _me_ to attend the West-Tower party?” 

“That is correct.” 

“This is fucking _sweet!”_ Isabel exclaimed. “Fucking finally, a _party!_ God I haven’t been to one in so long- what do you even _wear_ at parties? Are suits still in?” 

“I cannot assist with what you’ll be wearing." Adriel stared up towards the ceiling, a faraway look in those dark eyes of his. "And although it sickens me to condone the collecting of human souls for Hell, it is a sacrifice that must be made for the greater good of humanity and the world as a whole.” 

“Oh cut the self-righteous crap already. Look, just accept that you’re a little bit of a bastard. I mean, look at me- I’m working with an _angel_ . An _angel!_ This is enough to get me _flayed._ Over and over again. For eternity. I’m putting my ass on the line here man, and so are you- so let's not pretend to be something we’re not.” 

Adriel looked away uncomfortably. Notably, a few strands of his usually well-kept dark hair fell into his face. “Indeed. I acknowledge the sacrifices you’re making to work with me. I appreciate it. But just as you said, you’re not the only one making sacrifices. If my siblings find out that I’ve sullied myself by working with a demon, they will see me as an abomination.” 

Isabel shrugged. “Eh, being an abomination isn’t so bad. You get used to it after a while.” She stuck out her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, handsome.” 

Adriel glanced down at her hand with a quirked brow and gingerly pushed it away. “None of that is necessary, just- keep up appearances and cover for Ryu until I tell you otherwise. Can I trust you to do that?” 

Isabel wanted to say no, because who trusts a demon? But this was the perfect opportunity to get back at Ryu for stealing her jobs like the suck-up he was. She wasn't one to turn down an opportunity for payback. “Of course. I’ll take any chance I can get to keep Ryu out of Hell for as long as possible. When’s this party?” 

“Today. In a few hours, actually. I suggest you get ready.” 

Isabel’s mouth fell open. _“Today?!_ Man, I’m barely recovered from what Val did to me! I’m in no shape to be partying right now!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t be of service. My angelic energy would destroy you.” 

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” Isabel sighed. “I’ll just have to grin and bear it- and hope no one notices. You can count on me- I’ll get more souls at that party than Ryu could get in _months.”_

“That’s not the point of the mission-” Adriel interrupted himself with a sigh. “I’ll check back in as soon as I can. Remember-” 

“You were never here. Got it.” Isabel waved him off. “Now hop to it Hot Wings, before the holy crew notices you’re gone.” 

Adriel glared at her, and with a powerful flap of his impressively-sized wings he was gone, curtains fluttering and papers scattering throughout the air.

Isabel grinned and rushed into the bathroom to get ready. It seemed like there was finally something to look forward to with this job after all. 

* * *

Bexley had hoped that with Abigail’s creative flare, this party would have some life, some color- but much to her disappointment, it looked just as lifeless and dull as every corporate party. There was no way Abigail was responsible for picking the atrociously boring decorations- that must have been the work of Angela Hightower. 

She glanced around the room from the corner where Abigail’s present table stood. It was full of gifts, naturally- including the bracelet she got her. Bexley’s bracelet, which she was donning tonight, contained peridot, Abigail’s birthstone, while Abigail’s contained pearl, which was Bexley’s. She knew Abigail well enough now to know how much the girl liked flashy things. 

As she should have expected, the party was full of stuffy suited men- some of them being accompanied by their partners, others alone. The personal, warm vibe that she and Abigail had been hoping to see was nowhere in sight. 

Perhaps that was due to her father. He tended to suck up all the warmth in a room with his presence alone. 

“Bexley!” 

Bexley nearly jumped out of her own skin, startled as a giggling and already slightly tipsy Abigail clung to her arm. “Whoa,” she said as she stared down at Abigail’s flushed face. “You’ve had too much already. Have you eaten yet?” 

“I had, like… some crackers. Or something.” She paused to giggle. “Doesn’t matter! Come on, I want you to go talk to some of my dad’s work friends! Make a good impression!” 

“Oh no, I don’t think that’s a good-” 

“It’s fine! They already love you, just be polite and say hello!” 

Before Bexley could protest, Abigail was already shoving her in the direction of a much older, but admittedly handsome gentleman. He was holding a champagne glass, and it took all the coordination that Bexley had to keep from crashing into him. 

Bexley stared up at him, face reddening quickly as he smirked down at her. “I am- _so_ sorry sir, um- my friend, she’s had a bit too much to drink and she- just kind of pushed me. Um, I’m gonna go over here now-” 

“Wait,” the man said, his voice low. “It’s alright. I’ll have to thank your friend for sending a pretty young lady like you in my direction.” 

Bexley couldn’t help the blush that settled on her cheeks as she smiled up at him. The man looked to be maybe a few years younger than her father- and he had certainly aged better. Still, that didn’t change the fact that he was certainly way out of her age range.

_Then again, it’s been years._

She should go. She should definitely go-

“Come on, let me get you a drink. Surely your father wouldn’t mind if we just… talked business?” 

The look in his eyes suggested that he wanted to do more than talk business. She threw a look over her shoulder for any sign of Abigail, discomfort settling deep in the pit of her stomach. 

“That’s really kind of you sir, but I really should be getting back to Abigail-” 

The man suddenly grabbed her wrist, preventing her from walking away. “You mean to tell me that the look you were giving me just now meant you _weren’t_ interested? Don’t lie to me.” He grinned and moved his hand up her arm, pulling her closer. “You and I both know that if you don’t accept your father’s offer, you won’t have anything else. So just come with me- I can make sure you’re comfortable. You won’t have a single expense to worry about ever again.” 

Ah. So that's what this was about.

Bexley was no stranger to men making her 'offers'- especially when they had heard of her reluctance to take control of the company. But to her, the one thing that would be worse than taking over her father's company, would be turning into someone's trophy wife.

She glared sharply at the man, her icy blue eyes piercing into him. “You’re right. My father only values me as the next in line. But regardless- I still have value right now, as long as I am of service to him. And I don’t think it would be any skin off his nose to cut ties with you altogether if I happened to make a complaint. After all- who’s more important to him right now? So I suggest you take your hands off me now, sir, or you’ll be bankrupt and on the street by the end of the night. Have I made myself clear?” 

The man, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, slowly released her arm. Bexley smiled, took a glass of champagne from the waiter’s tray nearby, and nodded, bidding him goodnight. 

“You won’t be able to hide behind your daddy forever, Bex. Once he realizes you aren’t going to do what he wants, he’ll toss you aside.” 

Bexley immediately paused. 

_Just ignore him._

_Walk away._

_Don’t engage with him anymore. Leave it be._

_Leave it alone, Bexley._

But Bexley had been told to ‘let it go’ in the name of saving face, in the name of maintaining professionalism, ever since she was a child. And frankly, she was fucking sick of it. 

So she straightened herself, turned around, and marched right back over to where the asshole was standing- all _smug_ like he had her wrapped around his finger. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe my father will toss me aside if I don’t do what he wants. But if I do- you’d better start saving up for that day, because I will take _everything_ from you. You hear me? I’ll ruin you and have your miserable ass on the streets begging from the very same people you look down on. So don’t you _dare-”_

“Excuse me,” a smooth voice that she knew all too well interrupted, “is there a problem here?” 

The man gasped and smiled nervously, his entire demeanor shifting. “Oh not at all, Mr. Westshire! There was just a bit of a misunderstanding here between me and your daughter, that’s all-” 

“A misunderstanding? Are you certain of that, Mr. Fields? Because I just so happened to notice my daughter attempting to escape from you after your grabbed her arm.” 

“Dad,” Bexley said, “I’ve got it covered, you can leave now-” 

Paul held up a finger to silence her. Reluctantly, she did just that.

“I misread her signals sir, it was my mistake-” 

“Her signal? You mean the signal where she was clearly trying to get away from you? That signal?” Paul’s eyes grew dark, a swirling storm brewing within them as he took thundering steps towards Mr. Fields. “Leave. Now. You can consider yourself banned from any and all of my properties- and my company.” 

“But sir-!” 

“I will not tolerate any kind of harassment. If you so much as _breathe_ in her direction, you will _sorely_ regret it. Have I made myself clear?” 

Paul nodded to some of the suited men standing at the entrance, and both he and Bexley watched as Mr. Fields was escorted out. In a fit of rage, he threw his champagne glass to the floor- and was quickly restrained afterwards. 

“Thanks,” Bexley muttered, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear her, “but I had it covered.” 

“I’m sure you did. But I can’t simply stand by while my daughter is being mistreated. What kind of father would I be then?” 

“...Right.” Bexley took a long drink of her champagne. “Well, thanks again. I’m gonna go find Abigail and try to forget that this happened.” 

“Bexley.” Paul grabbed her free hand. “Please understand that regardless of our professional relationship, I will _always_ protect you. You know that, right?” 

“...Yes,” Bexley said. Despite years and years of building feelings towards her father- she felt something inside her grow warmer at his words. Or maybe that was just the alcohol. She couldn’t really tell anymore. “I understand.” 

And with that she took off, desperate to find Abigail before this night could get any worse. It didn’t take long to spot her- the bright strawberry blonde hair and the sparkly silver dress were dead giveaways. She was slumped over the counter at the bar, a half-empty glass in her hand. 

Bexley seated herself beside her, gingerly rubbing her back. “So, how are you doing?” 

“Bexley!” she exclaimed, breaking down into hysterical sobs. “No one except you has wished me a happy birthday and I don’t get it! That’s what we’re all here for, right? Right? It’s my birthday, isn’t it Bex?” 

“Yes, it’s your birthday,” Bexley reassured her. “Forget them. They’re all assholes anyway.” 

“But this was supposed to be a party where we could forget about business for once, and all I see is- business people! Everywhere!” 

“I know,” Bexley said, “I noticed that too.” 

“Stupid,” Abigail grumbled. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” 

Bexley removed the glass from her hand and set it aside, deciding that she had had more than enough. “You stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’m gonna get you some water and some more crackers.” 

“No!!! Don’t wanna eat!!” 

“You’ll regret it even more if you don’t eat a little bit. Wait for me here.” Bexley stood up, and once she was about halfway over to the food table, she paused when she heard Abigail… giggling? 

She turned back around to see what the matter was, and froze when she saw that a young blonde woman had taken her seat, and was chatting Abigail up like there was no tomorrow. She was dressed in a form-fitting black suit, with black flats and a black ribbon holding her long hair in an elegant low ponytail.

Bexley didn’t care who Abigail talked to- she was far more social than she was and had plenty of other friends. But with the way she was giggling, Bexley couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was just more than a friendly conversation. And again- she didn’t mind, Abigail was always more like a sister to her than a potential girlfriend, but something about the blonde made her hairs stand on end. 

While keeping a watchful eye on the two of them, Bexley quickly retrieved a glass of water and a few crackers from the snack table. She knew she had to look strange as she nearly speed-walked across the room to get back to the bar. 

The blonde woman was quick to notice her. Bexley flashed her a curt smile and set the water and plate of crackers on the counter. “Here.” 

“Bex, have you met my new friend Isabel?" Abigail asked through snorts of laughter. "She’s _sooooo_ funny!” 

“So this is the Bexley I’ve heard so much about,” Isabel said, turning to face Bexley. The woman called Isabel had eyes that set off alarm bells in Bexley’s head- if the light happened to hit them just right, they almost looked red. Her platinum blonde hair framed her face just right and contrasted nicely with the darker tone of her skin. Bexley’s eyes trailed down to the curve of her neck, the broadness of her shoulders- 

“I’m Isabel,” the woman said as she stuck out her hand. “Isabel Baxter.” 

Bexley blinked a few times to get herself out of her own head, staring down at the offered hand for a moment before slipping her hand in hers. She couldn’t help but notice the size difference, the way Isabel’s hand fit so well around hers. 

“Bexley,” she said, “Bexley Westshire. Nice to meet you.” 

“So you’re the other daughter of the West-Tower boys,” Isabel mused aloud, giving her a solid once-over with those eyes that sent shivers down Bexley’s spine. “You’re not what I was expecting.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re hardly a disappointment.” 

“Isn’t she just _so funny?”_ Abigail said through a giggle. She then stood up and downed the entire glass of water. “I gotta pee. I’ll leave you girls to it.” 

“Wait, I’ll come with you-” 

“Nah it’s okay, my mom’s in there! I need to talk to her anyway. You talk to your new friend, okay? See ya in a bit!” 

“No wait! Don’t-”

Before Bexley could stop her, Abigail was already running off to the bathroom. 

"...go."

“Honestly, as drunk as she is, I’m impressed that she can still run in those heels.” 

Bexley sat down in Abigail’s spot, shooting Isabel a suspicious look. “What’s your deal?” 

Isabel blinked cluelessly, eyes wide. “My deal?” 

“Yeah, I mean- I’m used to seeing people I don’t know at parties all the time, so it’s not that, it’s just- you were talking to Abigail like you’ve known her for years- are you a friend that I’ve never met, or…”

“Oh!” Isabel said. “Sorry, is Abigail your girlfriend? If that’s what’s going on here, I didn’t mean to intrude. But I wasn’t really flirting, if that means anything- that girl’s so drunk she’ll laugh at anything. I’m not even really that funny, to be honest.” 

“No, we’re not dating,” Bexley said firmly. “We’re friends.” 

“Do you _wanna_ be dating?” 

“No, she’s like a sister- wait, _why_ am I telling you any of this?” 

Isabel shrugged. “I’ve been told that I’m easy to talk to.” She crossed her legs and turned in her chair to face her. “So, you’re Bexley Westshire. That explains why you’re here at the anniversary party.” 

“Anniversary party?” Bexley asked, confused. “No, you’re mistaken. This is Abigail’s 25th birthday party.” 

“Really? That’s not what the invitation said.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Isabel grinned. “You seriously didn’t know? _You,_ of all people?” She reached into her pants pocket and handed her a rather fancy-looking invitation. “Have a look for yourself.” 

Bexley unfolded the invitation and began to read. 

_You’re Invited!_

_West-Tower Publishing cordially invites you to celebrate their 50th Anniversary!_

_Food and drinks will be provided, including an open bar!_

_This event is formal, so please be sure to dress accordingly!_

_Where: Royal Bluebird Hotel, New York City, NY_

_When: August 23, 2020_

_Please RSVP by phone or email!_

_P.S- Please bring a gift for the Hightowers’ daughter, Abigail- it’s her birthday!_

“That lying _bitch!”_ Bexley abruptly shouted, crumpling up the invitation and tossing it onto the floor. 

“Whoa whoa, easy!” Isabel said in an attempt to calm her down. “Who’s the lying bitch?”

“Angela Hightower,” Bexley grumbled, “she _told_ Abigail that this party would be for her and only for her!” 

“Maybe it was a misunderstanding?” 

“You don’t know the Hightowers like I do. They’ll manipulate Abigail every which way to get what they want- and she falls for it every damn time.” 

“Oh. Well they sound lovely,” Isabel said dryly. 

“Look, this has been nice and all but I have to go explain what’s going on.” Bexley abruptly stood up. “Thanks for listening.” 

“Good luck getting her to listen to anything in her state,” Isabel said, loud enough to stop Bexley dead in her tracks. 

“...Then I’m going to take her home. Sober her up. Explain what’s going on.” 

“You can’t force her to leave if she doesn’t want to,” Isabel pointed out. “Come on. You’re clearly not having a good night. I specialize in helping people have not so bad nights. Hear me out.”

Bexley glanced across the room and found Abigail laughing along and socializing with a group of older women and their husbands. She was truly a natural at the ‘people’ thing- a skill that Bexley unfortunately didn’t have. 

“Alright. Five minutes,” Bexley decided as she sat back down, folding her arms across her chest. “Wow me.” 

Isabel grinned deviously. “I’m a bit of a businesswoman, you see. I travel the world offering my services to folks looking to advertise their products. I’ve been told I’m quite..." She paused, flexing her fingers, _"charismatic.”_

Bexley smirked. “Really? You got something to sell to me, then? I have to warn you, there’s not much I haven’t seen.” 

“Admittedly, you’re difficult to read. I have a talent for figuring people out pretty quickly- seeing what their true motivations and desires are. You’re a bit more of a mystery- which is strange, because a spoiled little rich girl like you should be easy to figure out.” 

“Really? What do spoiled little rich girls usually want?” Bexley asked. 

“To be even richer, of course. Once they get a taste, it’s never enough," Isabel answered, like it was obvious.

Bexley laughed. “Well, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m actually trying to get away from my dad’s money.” 

“Now that _is_ a shock!” Isabel quickly flagged down the bartender. “Two shots of your strongest stuff for me and the lady.” 

The bartender nodded and went to retrieve her order. 

Bexley grinned. “Maybe I don’t like strong stuff.” 

“You strike me as the kind of girl who can handle it. So tell me, why are you so interested in running _away_ from your father’s riches and success?” 

“Well, this might be hard to hear, but my dad has been trying to force me into taking over this company since I could talk. And well, my passions lie elsewhere.” 

The bartender set their glasses onto the counter. Bexley moved to grab hers just as Isabel did, and their hands brushed. She wanted to make a comment about how cold her hands felt, but refrained. 

“Well then," Isabel said, "to the girl I can’t quite read.” 

Bexley smiled and they clinked their glasses together before downing the shots. The burn of the alcohol was pleasant. She could already feel it working through her, her cheeks flushing. 

“So where do your passions lie? If not with the company?” Isabel asked curiously.

“Oh,” Bexley smiled shyly. “No one’s ever asked me that- well, besides my dad, but there’s no way I’d tell him.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“He’d just take it from me.” Against her better judgment, Bexley requested another shot. “My passions tend to be… off-putting to my father and his business partners. The, um… paranormal. True crime. Things like that.” 

Isabel’s brows raised in interest. “A fan of things that go bump in the night?” 

“Something like that.” 

“That’s cute. I like it. And if your old man doesn’t, that’s his problem.” 

Bexley downed her second shot. “Just what are you doing sitting here talking to me, of all people? Don’t you have something to pitch to me?” 

“Honestly? No.” Isabel glanced around the room. “You said you were a fan of things that go bump in the night?” 

“Yeah, a bit. Why?” 

“What if I told you that a deal with me could get you anything you wanted?” 

Bexley stilled for a few seconds, glanced up at her, and then burst into laughter. 

“Seriously?” she said through laughs as she wiped tears from her eyes. “What are you, like the Devil or something?” 

“Worse,” Isabel said. She didn’t sound like she was joking, either- her tone flat and dark. “I meant what I said. I’m a businesswoman. Sign a contract with me, and I’ll give you whatever you want. I can turn your upside down life right-side up again, if you give me a chance.” 

Bexley met her eyes- then giggled again. “Yeah, alright. You’re way too into this deal with the devil thing- does it work for all the ladies?” 

“Bex-”

“Look, you seem really cool- if you want I can give you my number, and we can-” 

_“Bex.”_

A cold hand placed itself on her wrist. It wasn’t a harsh grip, but it glued Bexley right back into her seat. “Look into my eyes, and tell me if you still think I’m joking.” 

Bexley wasn’t sure why she did it- but she did. She looked right into her eyes- and was stunned when she found Isabel’s ambition burning behind those ruby eyes. She was completely and entirely serious- and maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but Isabel’s eyes appeared completely red now, engulfed with something that Bexley couldn’t explain or describe. 

“I… just _what_ are you..?” 

“Folks, if I could please have your attention for a moment?” 

The music filling the room quickly shut off. Angela Hightower’s voice commanded silence from the room as all eyes turned to focus on her. Bexley quickly glanced over at Isabel, but she was already gone, leaving only the empty shot glass.

_Did I… imagine all of that?_

“Thank you all for coming to the West-Tower Publishing 50th anniversary party. We’re all thrilled to have you here!” 

A round of applause quickly erupted. Angela smiled that megawatt smile of hers and Bexley found herself fuming, already nearly forgetting the mysterious woman she'd just met. She stood up from her seat and quickly went off in search of Abigail. She’d had enough of this for one night. Time to go home.

“Can you believe it’s been 50 years already? It’s hard to believe- it feels like it was just yesterday that Robert Westshire and Frederick Hightower decided to join forces and build this company from the ground up!” 

_Don’t listen. Don’t listen. Find Abigail._

“My wonderful husband Adam, and my dear friend Paul are both here this evening, and they have a few words they’d like to share with you all! So without further adieu, I’d like to introduce Adam Hightower and Paul Westshire!” 

Another applause broke out as Adam Hightower and Paul Westshire took the stage. Adam Hightower was much kinder looking than Paul- age had done him well and even now he was blessed with having a boyish, innocent face with wide green eyes and sandy brown hair. If it weren’t for the fact that he was even more of a scumbag than her father, Bexley might like him. 

“Thank you Angela for that wonderful introduction,” Adam said, smiling tenderly at his wife. “And thank you all for being here. Paul and I cannot express our gratitude for all of you, and the support that you have given to us over the years. Without you, we wouldn’t have gotten to where we are today.” 

“I am sure that my grandfather, Robert Westshire, would be thrilled to see how far the company has come today," Paul added. "He put his heart and soul into this company, gave it everything he had- and I know he’s looking down on us from Heaven, as is Frederick, and I know that they are both smiling.” 

Bexley watched as someone wiped a tear from their eye. _Seriously?_

“We never dreamed that we would get this far, but we have, and it’s truly my proudest accomplishment- well, next to marrying my lovely wife, of course,” Adam said, flashing Angela a bright, loving smile. 

“And if Elena were here, I know she would be…” Paul stilled, his words failing him for a moment, “she would be so proud.” 

Adam clapped his hand on Paul’s back. “Let us all have a brief moment of silence. For the lovely Elena Westshire.” 

Bexley froze. The few foggy memories she had of her mother came flashing through her mind unbidden- long dark hair, a kind smile, a gentle touch- and it brought hot tears to her eyes. She cursed under her breath, wiped at her eyes, and continued her search for Abigail. _Come on, come on, where are you?_

“Thank you. We won’t take up too much of your time this evening, but we wanted to express our gratitude to each and every one of you. And my friend Paul here has a special announcement that he wanted to share with you all tonight.” 

Paul cleared his throat. “Yes. As you all know, I won’t be able to run my half of West-Tower Publishing forever, as much as I wish I could.” 

It took some less-than-polite shoving, but Bexley finally found her, sitting alone by the food table, eating cheese slices like her life depended on it. 

“We’re not at my birthday party, are we Bex?” she asked forlornly, staring up at Bexley with the most miserable expression she'd ever seen.

“No, we aren’t.” Bexley pulled Abigail to her feet, then grabbed her hand. “Come on. We’re going back to my place. I’ve had enough of this shitty party- no offense.” 

“None taken- hey, can I take my cheese?” 

“No time. Let’s go.” 

“Tonight, I wanted to announce to you all that my daughter, Bexley Westshire, has graciously agreed to take over and become the new owner of the Westshire half of West-Tower Publishing!” 

Bexley froze, Abigail’s hand slipping out of her grasp. 

The applause that thundered afterwards sounded muffled after that. The lights searched around the room, and when they finally spotted her, they were blinding. Bexley stood there dumbly, eyes wide, her mouth hanging open like an idiot. 

_What. The. Fuck._

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that, Bex!” Abigail exclaimed. She threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I’m so happy for you, congratulations! Go on, go give your speech!” 

_What? The? FUCK?_

Bexley wasn’t sure what was right and left or up and down. The world was spinning and all she knew for sure was that she felt like she was going to be sick. But the teary smile on Abigail’s face, coupled with the proud, arrogant smile on her father’s face, reminded her of everything that had ruined her night- that prick who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, Abigail’s shitty parents, her shitty dad- 

Suddenly, just like that, the world came into clarity again. The clapping and cheering rang clear in her ears. 

Bexley drew in a deep breath, wiped the look off her face, and smiled. She waved politely to everyone as she gathered herself and walked over to the stage. She shook Adam and Angela’s hand, and much to her father’s surprise, wrapped him in a tight embrace. 

She took the mic from him, and turned to face the waiting crowd. The sick feeling returned, and her stomach churned violently. 

But what ended up coming out of her mouth was far worse than vomit. 

“Well, this was certainly a surprise!” Bexley blurted, her smile tight. “But I just have to say, I am beyond thrilled. Really. This is just- wow.” 

She looked out at the sea of faces, all of them smiling and awaiting her words. It was all the courage she needed. 

“But honestly, I couldn’t give less of a _fuck_ about this company.” 

She watched with twisted satisfaction as their jaws all collectively dropped. They turned to murmur amongst each other, surely to say how _appalled_ they were at her foul language. She looked over at Adam and Angela, who both looked like they were two seconds away from a heart attack. 

“All this company has ever been is a tool for my father to control me, so what makes _any_ of you think that I would want any part of this?” She turned around to face her father, who appeared as impassive as ever. “So Dad, do you believe me now? Do you finally understand that I will _never_ want anything to do with this company? This is me, rejecting your offer for the final time.” She shoved the mic into his chest, only for it to fall to the floor. 

Dead silence swept across the room. Bexley nodded firmly before briskly walking off stage, waving at them as she headed towards the door, not bothering to look back. 

She had just made several enemies, and she just happened to live with the most powerful one. 

And yet, even so, she had never felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the wait! supernatural literally consumed my brain to the point where i wasn't able to focus on anything else. here's chapter 3!

The confused murmurs and shocked gasps were nothing more than muffled background noise as Bexley made her way to the exit, stepping out into the summer evening air. 

She didn’t consider herself to be an impulsive person. Years of living with her father had taught her how to plan, to be cunning and calculative, and most importantly- to keep a poker face at all times. 

The face she had worn tonight, however, was certainly not that. 

Her father had always been one step ahead of her, and perhaps he always would be. But for tonight, and tonight alone, her impulsivity had curved his plans, made things go a different way than what he had anticipated- and that alone was a victory in her eyes. 

She hadn’t even given herself enough time to regret her decision, and she never would. Not in a million years. 

The door slammed open a few minutes later and none other than Angela Hightower came storming outside, her cheeks red and her eyes alight with fury. Bexley wasn't at all surprised to see her.

“Miss Westshire,” she said curtly, like the words sliced her tongue. Her voice was, as always, professionally cold. 

“Mrs. Hightower,” Bexley greeted, like nothing was wrong. “What can I do for you?” 

“You could start by apologizing to your father,” Angela said. “Do you have any idea of the _chaos_ you’ve created?” 

“That’s not my problem,” Bexley stubbornly argued, because _fuck-_ it _was_ her fault, but right about now, she couldn't be bothered to give a damn. “I told dad I didn’t want to work for him. He insisted that I would do it anyway when I didn't agree to it. Everything that happened after that was his fault.” 

_“His_ fault?” Angela retorted. Bexley heard her throw her hands up in exasperation, dramatic as always. “There you go again. You can’t handle being wrong. It _always_ has to be someone else’s fault- _every single time_ you find a way to blame him. You get into a fight with Abigail? Paul’s fault. You can’t find a job on your own? Paul’s fault. Your mother-” 

As always seemed to be the case, a switch within her was flipped the moment her mother was introduced into the conversation. “You don’t _get_ to talk about my mother,” Bexley warned, shooting her a fierce glare over her shoulder.

Angela looked stunning- not that she ever didn't. She prided herself on her appearance, and even as a young girl Bexley had always respected that about her. Abigail looked just like her, too. “The point is, you’re twenty-five years old, Bexley- _when_ are you going to start holding yourself accountable for your own actions?” 

“Never,” Bexley grumbled miserably as she turned her back on Angela. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“Right. _I’m_ the nag simply because I want you to take some responsibility. Paul is _not_ the monster you think he is Bexley, and all of this could’ve been avoided with a conversation! You didn’t have to embarrass him _and_ yourself on stage!”

The _last_ thing she needed right now was a fight with Angela. “I agree,” Bexley said, “none of this had to happen. _None_ of this would have happened if my dad wasn’t the way he is. Do you know how many times I’ve had ‘the conversation’ with him? It ends the same every time, with him just _assuming_ that I’m going to do what he wants.” 

Angela made a noise that suggested disbelief. Bexley quickly turned around again and approached her with slow steps, looking her right in the eyes, her stare unwavering and her mouth pulled into a tight line. “You pretend not to notice. But you’re not like Mr. Hightower and Abigail. You _know_ what my dad is like, Mrs. Hightower. You saw how he was with my mother.”

Angela looked down, to the side- anywhere but at Bexley- almost like she was ashamed. Bexley wasn't sure if she _could_ feel shame. “Paul is a good man,” she insisted. “And I won’t stand for you attempting to ruin him like this.” 

_“Ruin_ him?” Bexley's laugh was tainted with jaded bitterness. “If you think this is going to do so much as put a _stain_ on Paul Westshire’s reputation, then you’re _way_ more naïve than I thought.” 

_“You’re_ the naïve one, assuming that you can get through life like this.” Angela gestured up and down at her. “Look at yourself. Twenty-five and still living at home, still relying on your father’s money even though you’d rather die than admit it- yet you have so much hatred in your heart for him. I’ll never understand it.” 

Bexley bit her lip, forcing down a rebuttal. She could feel her teeth piercing the skin of her lip, threatening to draw blood. She turned back around towards the parking lot, swallowing down Angela's words like they were a foul-tasting medicine. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” 

“I’m warning you now,” Angela said, her heels clicking against the asphalt as she walked back to the door. “Go talk to your father. Apologize for behaving rashly. Don’t turn this into something it doesn’t have to be.” 

Bexley didn’t say anything more as Angela walked back inside, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving her alone in the parking lot once more. 

Forget this. Forget _her._

Forget all of them.

 _“You_ **_need_ ** _him,”_ said a low voice in her head, dark and insidious. The voice sounded far too much like her own. _“Every time you try to step out of your father’s shadow you fall right back in it. You are bound to him, in every way. You will never escape.”_

Maybe Angela was right. But she also chose to turn a blind eye to it all. She was one of the few people that had seen past the veil, and yet for the sake of the company, she pretended it didn’t exist.

Bexley was the only one who didn’t care about the company enough to play dumb and feign innocence. Not even Abigail could say that much. 

And Paul had to know. Of course he knew that Bexley knew- there was no avoiding that- but Angela was a bit of a mystery even to him, and he’d always been a big fan of mysteries.

They had that in common.

Figuring that this was enough chaos for one night, Bexley turned to go back inside and retrieve her belongings so she could head home, but froze entirely in place when she heard what sounded like a _yelp._

It was faint, but distinct enough for her to recognize that it was human. There was no animal that sounded like that- at least not one that she had ever heard of.

 _It's not my problem._ This was the city. There were multiple reasons people could be yelling, and _none_ of them meant that she should get involved. 

Shaking her head, she started walking again, only for the yelp to quickly turn into a full-fledged scream- a desperate, throaty howl that could only come from pure agony. It was the kind of scream you’d hear in a horror movie.

_Do not get involved._

_Do not get involved._

_Do not get involved._

“Please!” the owner of the voice cried out, hoarse and weak and _desperate._ "Don’t-” 

Then, a sound that Bexley could only describe as a sickening wet _splat_ hit her ears, and then all was quiet. Even the hustle and bustle of New York City at night seemed to fall silent as the helpless cries of the person- or _victim_ \- immediately died out. 

_I should go inside._

_I should go inside._

She knew this stuff. It’s classic horror movie knowledge 101. You don’t go _towards_ the creepy sound, you run _away_ from it. And in the event that you are _forced_ to go in the direction of the creepy sound- you _never_ do it unprepared. Bexley didn’t have a weapon to defend herself- she didn’t even have a phone to call 911. If she was right and someone was hurt- or worse- what good would she be to them? 

And there is also, of course, the possibility that it was all a big misunderstanding- maybe some people were just messing around, and her exhausted, anxiety-ridden brain was turning it into something it wasn't. This certainly wouldn't be the first time. 

But there was a feeling that she simply couldn’t shake. It was reminiscent of the _feeling_ that had burned inside her since she was young and only grew stronger with every urban legend or scary story she ever read. And at that moment, her brain chose to remind her of the headline she had read not too long ago- of the poor man who had died nearby.

_What if it’s happening again?_

But so what if it is, right? People die all the time. 

_Fuck. I’m really not going to be able to let this go, am I?_

With this, Bexley came to the realization that her mind was more or less already made up, and it likely had been since the moment she heard the strange noises. She could go home and pretend this never happened but it would keep her up at night, and she didn't have that kind of energy to waste.

But that didn’t mean she had to be stupid about it, either. If something _did_ happen, the least she could do is get the police on the scene, right? 

_But are you really prepared to see a dead body?_

She pushed that thought into the back of her mind, hoping that she’d get lucky and it was just some people messing around. 

With her decision made, Bexley rushed back inside, ignoring the stares and whispers of disapproval that she got from the remaining guests, and grabbed her things from where she had left them.

As she rushed back outside with her phone in hand, she spared a fleeting glance at the bar, and couldn’t help but notice that the woman in the suit from earlier- Isabel, if she was recalling correctly- was missing. 

_She must’ve been put off by what I said and left. Can't say I blame her._

She took a deep breath. It was 99.9% likely that this was nothing and she was freaking out for no reason. She was _hoping_ that was the case, truly. That being said, her brain and her gut likely wouldn’t let her rest until she found out what had happened. It had sounded so _close,_ almost like she was _meant_ to hear it. 

The sound was coming from the left side of the street. Bexley walked out to the sidewalk, clutching her phone tightly in her hand. She had considered that maybe it had come from inside a store, but it had been so loud and piercing that she had heard it even over New York City traffic- meaning that it had to be nearby.

She continued her investigation for a few blocks, checking every nook and cranny for any abnormalities, ignoring the confused looks she got from strangers. This wasn't the first time she had gone investigating and it probably wouldn't be the last. She and Abigail used to do it all the time when they were younger, but it tended to be more of a solo thing for her now as an adult.

She finally spotted a small, dark alleyway tucked between a clothing store and an apartment complex. She paused, swallowing heavily. She was about to see absolutely nothing and be annoyed that she wasted her time, or something that would traumatize her for the rest of her life. 

Ah, well. It’s not like she didn’t already need therapy. 

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her nerves, Bexley rounded the corner and peered into the alleyway. The sun hadn’t set yet but the street lights had been turned on for the night, allowing some light to spill in. For the most part, from where she was standing, all she could see was trash and cracks in the asphalt. 

With tentative steps she walked into the darkness. She used her phone as her flashlight, examining the walls and the ground for any signs that someone had been here recently. She even opened her mouth to say ‘hello’, but ultimately decided against it. This was enough. 

Once she reached the other end of the alleyway, she sighed in both relief and resignation. So she _was_ wrong after all. 

_Big surprise._

This was for the best. She had done her part and found nothing. Now she could go home and hopefully rest well knowing that she had at least attempted to satisfy her own curiosity.

Just as she was about to turn around and head back, though, her phone started vibrating in her hand. 

“Hello?” 

_“Bex? Where are you? Did you just up and leave? I can’t find you anywhere!”_

Bexley winced as Abigail practically screamed into her ear. “Sorry, I just… I thought I heard something. So I went to investigate.” 

_“You thought you… do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be wandering around the streets of New York alone? At night?”_

“Geez, you’re starting to sound like my dad.” 

_“That’s a problem then, because you don’t listen to him!”_

“Look, I’m _fine._ It’s not that late and I didn’t go that far. I’m already heading back now!" 

_“Good. Get back here ASAP- I just threw up all over my dress and I’m tired and I just…”_

“Alright,” Bexley said, her voice softening. She must be sobering up by now. “Alright, hey- it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m on my way. Stay there.” 

She hung up and briefly let herself lean against the wall. _God_ , she was tired. 

As she turned around and began to walk back down through the alleyway, however, she immediately paused again when she felt something _wet_ drip onto her shoulder. She glanced over, and icy horror settled deep in the pit of her stomach as she watched the small drop of familiar red liquid spread through the fabric, staining her dress. Her legs started to shake, her mind attempting to process a million varying thoughts at once. 

Another drop- this one bigger- and she felt it on her _skin_ this time, sliding off her shoulder and traveling down her arm. Bexley let out a yelp and stumbled forward, unsure of where to go (and her choice of footwear certainly was not helping matters).

That’s when she heard it again. 

_Splat._

And this time, she heard _exactly_ where it came from. 

Trembling, Bexley slowly lifted her head skyward, looking towards the shadows on the building that the city lights weren’t able to touch, and her heart nearly stopped when she caught the gaze of a pair of vibrant ruby eyes. 

They were bright- almost _glowing-_ and eerily cat-like. Bexley watched the creature’s pupils dilate as the eyes looked her up and down, before the owner of said eyes slid back further into darkness. 

Then there was a low hiss, and a growl- and that was all that Bexley needed for her body to kick into overdrive. 

Adrenaline began to pump through her veins as she booked it down the alleyway, feeling the wind rushing against her ears, blowing her hair back. She could see the lights getting closer and just when she was about to finally turn the corner, a large, clawed hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back into the darkness of the alleyway. 

Bexley screamed, she wriggled, she pushed against the force of the creature’s hand with all her might, but her struggles seemed useless as she was thrown against the wall. The hand in her hair moved further up her head, keeping a solid grip on her hair, the fingers tangling into the thick, dark strands. 

“Interesting,” a distorted, two-toned, but _familiar_ voice cooed, “you found me.” 

Before she could so much as ask what was going on (although she doubted that she'd be able to form coherent words at the moment), the creature stepped forward from the shadows, and if it weren’t for the hand currently keeping her upright, she likely would have collapsed. 

“Y-Y-You,” Bexley stammered, eyes wide, skin white as a ghost. “Y-Y-Y…” 

“Go on, get it out,” said Isabel Baxter. “Take your time.” 

Only, this couldn’t be _Isabel Baxter._ She had a similar face, a similar voice- but it couldn’t have been her, because Isabel Baxter was a _human_ woman that she’d met at a hotel bar. Sure, Bexley didn’t know her well, but she knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t whatever was standing before her. She couldn’t have been.

The woman- or rather, the _thing_ standing before her had _horns-_ two decently-sized horns that stuck out on both sides of her head, each of them curling up to a sharp point. Her eyes were completely black, save for the red irises and black cat-like pupils. 

And on top of that, the abnormally large hand currently holding her in place had _claws._ She had felt them brushing against the back of her neck once the creature had gotten a fistful of her hair.

“W-Woman a-at the b-bar,” Bexley stammered through heavy, uneven breaths, “y-you can’t b-be her…” 

“You know, I find it kind of offensive that humans can’t accept us in this form,” Isabel said casually, like she _wasn't_ currently holding Bexley against the wall by her hair. “I mean, I get it- I look like a slasher film reject- but _come on.”_

Bexley could barely _breathe,_ let alone divert enough energy to her brain to think of a proper response. “W-What are you..?” she whimpered, tears threatening to form in her eyes. “I-If this is s-some kind of j-joke…” 

Isabel laughed cruelly. “Oh no, no- it’s not a joke. There’s a dead guy hanging up there on the wall somewhere. Wanna see him?” 

Bexley let out a helpless whine. The thing currently wearing Isabel Baxter's face seemed so _jovial,_ so oddly detached from what she appeared as. Even looking the way she did, she still seemed ready as ever to strike up conversation, not unlike the Isabel she'd met at the bar.

“...I’m just gonna take that as a no.” Isabel hummed idly as she pondered her next move. “What to do… well, I guess there’s no point in giving you the whole ‘demon’ speech, you did kinda see everything…” 

Bexley’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her mouth falling open. “...Demon?” 

Amused by her apparent cluelessness, Isabel pointed to the horns on her head. “Duh, did you miss the horns?”

“This…” Bexley choked out, sobbing, “this isn’t real… I’m h-having a nightmare... I’m still at the hotel. I-I’m drunk.”

“Nah, you’re stone cold sober sweetheart.” 

The hand in her hair curled around her hair and tugged forcefully. Isabel leaned down, grinning widely. Bexley saw the blood staining her fangs, and knew then, for sure, that she couldn’t be lying. No one would go this far for a joke.

“I watched you give that speech in there," she said. "The repressed teen angst you’ve got kicking around in there… _ugh_. I love it. It makes souls so much _tastier.”_

_Tastier._

Bexley wasn't sure where her next question came from or how it came up. “D-Did you… did you _eat_ his soul?” she asked weakly, fearing that outcome for herself more and more by the second. She didn't know the first thing about demons but it seemed to be, at least in her position, a rational question to ask. 

Isabel glanced down at her nails, flexing her fingers like she was showing them off. “Nah, not this time. I don’t really get to eat souls that often, and when I do I usually get in trouble for it. If you haven’t noticed, us demons tend to get a bit _ravenous_ when we’re exposed to a live human soul.” Her eyes suddenly widened and she cupped her free hand over her mouth. “Oh. Whoops. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. But I guess it doesn’t matter in the end.”

Bexley began to squirm again as the implication behind her words set in. “No,” she begged, tears pooling in her eyes, “no no, no- _please-”_

Isabel rolled her eyes. It likely wasn't the first time she'd been faced with a crying human and it definitely wouldn't be the last. “It’s not _my_ rule, it’s Vallion’s,” she insisted. “Believe me, I don’t _want_ to kill you- believe it or not I actually kind of like you- but rules are rules. Humans can’t know about what happens to other humans who make a demon deal. Could you imagine if you guys found out what really happens to all the people who are dumb enough to sell their soul? Full on supernatural warfare. Honestly, we’d probably roast the planet. And nobody wants that. That’s why it’s best to just let us do our jobs- less people get hurt that way in the end, you know?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Bexley promised. She didn't know why she was begging so much- she had never begged for anything in her life- but the words tumbled out of her mouth uncontrollably. “I swear, just… just let me go, please. You said y-you liked me, right? Don’t do this. I…” 

Isabel cocked her head, squinting at her like she was reading without glasses. Her gaze was piercing and she felt exposed by her eyes alone. “How intriguing. Your soul aches and burns with self-hatred and regret, yet here you are, begging me for your life.” She bent down so that her nose was inches from her neck and inhaled her scent. “Hm. Even with all that fire and spirit you’ve got, you don’t smell very good. Your soul is… _tainted_ with something. I can’t quite pick up on it.” 

This caught Bexley's attention. “Tainted..?” 

“It’s… kind of fascinating, honestly,” Isabel said as another smile spread across her face. She sniffed Bexley again, before suddenly pulling back and letting out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Ahh, geez! I can’t do it! Killing you would be such a _waste!”_

Bexley didn’t say anything, didn’t so much as move.

“Vallion will be mad at me again if he finds out I let a human see me like this and _live.”_ She turned to look Bexley in the eye then, smirking. “But I liked your speech. And I like your soul. And I like that you let me buy you a drink.” 

Bexley took a moment to process her words. The first question that came to the forefront of her mind ended up falling right out of her mouth. “D-Do you… buy drinks for a lot of humans?” 

Isabel shrugged. “Only the ones I like, and the ones I _really can’t stand._ I think you know where you fall.” 

Bexley really wasn't sure where she fell, if she was being honest. 

Isabel watched her debate with herself internally, watching her face shift from one expression to the other as a new thought crossed her mind, before she finally erupted into loud, boisterous laughter, effectively breaking the tense silence that had slowly been building. “Okay, that’s it, it’s decided- I can’t kill you,” she said through giggles. “You’re… you’re _seriously_ just too much. But this poses a problem, because I can’t just let you go- you did see me kill a man.” 

“I… I didn’t _see_ you kill anyone,” Bexley insisted. “Technically. I mean I heard it. Which is why I came over here. But. I didn’t… didn’t see anything. And if the police asked… that is… _exactly_ what I would say. A-Absolutely. Definitely. One hundred percent.” 

“...But was it really murder though?” Isabel continued, pondering thoughtfully. “His deal was up and he wouldn’t pay up, so I had to take his soul by force, and I got a little carried away. It was manslaughter at best," she decided. 

“I agree,” Bexley said, nodding vehemently, because why would she disagree? “Manslaughter at best.” 

Isabel glanced down at her and chuckled again. Bexley noticed that the grip on her hair had loosened ever so slightly. If she was quick about it, she might be able to get away- or at least get help.

“Gosh, what to do with you... “ 

Then, in that moment, if they had happened to be in a cartoon, a light bulb would’ve appeared over Isabel’s head. 

“Got it! Ugh, I’m a genius. This is _perfect."_ Isabel's free hand grasped her shoulder. "Bex, how do you feel about a road trip?” 

Bexley couldn't even be mad that she had used a nickname that she had always hated. “A road trip..?” 

_“A road trip!"_ Isabel exclaimed. "Well- not really. I’m a demon and I can teleport and all, so it’ll be more like a five minute trip.” 

“Uh-huh… a-and where are we going..?” Bexley asked. 

“To pay a visit to an old friend first,” Isabel said. “It’s actually good that you’re coming along- I’ll need your help to summon him.” 

“W-Wait, hold on… what… are you gonna do to me?” 

“Oh, nothing too major- I’m just gonna take you to see a witch! But not just any witch- she’s the most powerful witch in the country- and quite possibly the world.” 

“Witches…” Bexley murmured, her head spinning, “as in… _actual_ witches?” 

“Hell yeah, _actual_ witches. Spellbooks, potions, the whole nine yards. Her name’s Amelia. She’s gonna wipe your memory and make you forget everything you saw!” 

_“What?”_

Isabel smiled cheerily and playfully booped her nose. “Yup! Don’t worry, you won’t be a total amnesiac. I’m just gonna have her wipe your memories of the past hour or so. It works out well for both of us. You get to live, and I don’t have to kill you. See? Perfect!” 

“But… but wait," Bexley said, attempting for her own sanity to backtrack, because seriously- _what the fuck?_ "This… this seems…” 

“Look, I don’t want you to forget me either, but it’s the only alternative-”

“B-But I’m confused,” Bexley said boldly. “Y-You got caught because you weren’t careful. You had to know there were people nearby... right?”

She was trembling through every word, but she kept her gaze fierce, forcing herself to look Isabel in the eye. The reality that she was wide awake was settling further and further in with every second, and every instinct was screaming at her to attempt to run for her life. But they both knew, in the end, she wouldn’t get very far, and the last thing she wanted was to do something to make her change her mind about killing her. Her next best option was to try to convince Isabel, who seemed to be on the fence about killing her, that she deserved to live. 

But at the same time, the more Isabel spoke, the more Bexley remembered the charming woman at the bar. She was still having a hard time believing that they were the same person, but she couldn’t deny her flaring morbid curiosity. It had been a spark when she’d heard the noises from the parking lot. It was a roaring, all-consuming inferno now. 

Luckily, Isabel didn't seem to take poorly to her insinuation. “Yeah, that was my bad,” she admitted. “Like I said- when we’re exposed to human souls, we become a bit… uncivilized.”

“H-Human souls,” Bexley stuttered. “S-So you’re… you’re the real deal. You’re… you’re…”

“From Hell.” 

“It’s-”

“Real? One hundred percent- but it’s not quite like humans describe it.” 

“And you’re-” 

“A demon. Got the horns and the tail to prove it. They’re completely real, promise. Wanna touch ‘em?” 

Bexley put her hands up, shaking her head. “N-No, that’s… that’s okay. I’m good. I-I believe you.” 

“Wow." Isabel blinked owlishly. "You’re taking the whole “heaven and hell are real” thing surprisingly well. No existential crisis?” 

_Existential crisis._

_The meaning of life._

_The existence of a life beyond this one._

The universe was caving in and the only thing keeping her from caving with it was Isabel's firm hand, steadying her while simultaneously destroying everything around her that she had thought was real. “That means… that means…” 

“Shit. I jinxed it.”

"I'm an atheist," Bexley said abruptly. "O-Or at least, I thought I was, until now- now I don't know what I am." 

"Ah, geez-" 

“S-So like, _Lucifer,”_ Bexley blurted. “The Devil. He’s-” 

“Rotting away in a special cell in the deepest pits of Hell,” Isabel clarified. “There was a demon coup d’état about three hundred years ago. We’ve got a new top dog now.” 

“Oh God-” 

“He's real too, I think. I don't know for sure, I don't really fly with those over-glorified bird people. But according to my good friend Adriel, he's more like a… _presence_ than a person. He's supposed to be an all-knowing, guiding force or whatever, but really he's more like an absent father. The Holy Club’s been left to their own devices upstairs.” 

_“Adriel?”_

“Angel.” 

“...Oh. Right. Yeah.” 

Isabel huffed. She had been amused with Bexley's crisis at first, but now she appeared impatient, like she was in a hurry. “Look, I don’t have time for you to have a breakdown. It's no big deal, you're gonna forget you even _heard_ any of this. Trust me, it's for the best. We need to get you to Amelia’s, and fast. Problem is, her house is hidden away from all angels and demons and Adriel is one of the few people who knows where it is.” 

Isabel’s hand moved from her hair to her wrist, grasping it tightly, and that seemed to snap Bexley back into reality. 

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to tell me what you think!


End file.
